Holding Out for a Hero
by Doktor Girlfriend
Summary: James Grishnackh's secretary has been waiting for a knight. She never expected one like this.


Title: Holding Out for a Hero  
Author: Doktor Girlfriend  
Cast: The Secretary, Number 666 (OFC), James Grishnackh, Number 747 (OFC)  
Rating: R (language and violence)  
Warnings: OCs and ladies out the wazoo  
Summary: James Grishnackh's secretary has been waiting for a knight. She never expected one like this.  
Disclaimer: I do not own _Metalocalypse_. Klokateers 666 (Black Betty/Birget) and 747 (Baby Boom/Renée) are mine, though 747 is visually based on the "Explode Me" groupie from "GirlfriendKlok." I also lay claim to this particular name and characterization of Grishnackh's secretary from "DethStars."  
Notes: Something I've wanted to write ever since I noticed the Secretary's prevalence in "Rescue Romance"-type stories. Not so much a "Take That" as just a different way to approach the subject. ...Okay, and maybe a little bit of a "Take That." Set after the beginning of Season 3. After I had already been writing this, someone pointed out that the newspaper at the end of "DethStars" does indeed proclaim Grishnackh to be alive! And certainly he'd want to try and get revenge when Dethklok proved helpless without Charles. Many thanks to The Magic Rat for the beta.

**Holding Out for a Hero**

**By Doktor Girlfriend**

"Mr. Grishnackh! Mr. Grishnackh, what's wrong?"

Her answer was to be shoved against the wall and otherwise ignored as her employer blundered by, throwing open draws and file cabinets, searching through papers and folders, throwing some into an open briefcase and letting the rest scatter to the floor, ransacking his own office. Somewhere in the building she could hear sirens, shouting, and the thundering of hundreds of footsteps. They were growing closer.

"Sir, what's happening?"

Grishnackh was crouched by his office safe now, sweeping more documents and items into his briefcase, slurring obscenities under his breath.

"Fucking... mumblings idiots. ...Only trying to get back what's mine."

The thunder was getting louder.

"Would've gotten it if _he_ hadn't come back..."

A cold drop of knowing settled in her stomach. "Oh, Mr. Grishnackh... You didn't."

She knew she had slipped up even before the words had left her mouth. Her boss whirled to look at her, and she wished with all her might to be ignored again. His face twisted into a grimace, the smooth, pink currents of burn scars glowing red with volcanic rage. Now it had a target it stood a chance of besting.

She flattened herself against the wall as he zeroed in, hand against her mouth in a desperate wish to undo ever speaking. "I'm sorry," she whispered between the fingers.

"You trying to tell me how to do my business, girl?"

"N-No, sir!"

"You think _I'm_ the bad guy, don't you?" He moved with purpose, with practice. Here he was confident, here was familiar territory. "You think I don't deserve the money those billionaire morons cost me!"

"Of course not!" She slid down to the floor, her only means of escape for all the good it did her. "I'd never-!"

"I should've known!" he roared, face so red and scrunched that it made his eyes appear to glow like hot coals. His rage shook the office, while outside the footsteps shook the hallway. "I should've known, the way you were! The way you hung around that... _trained ape!_ Wound around his legs like a pussy cat! I should've known you'd betray me!"

"No! NO!" She was sobbing now, head shaking in frantic denial, apologies spilling from her lips. What exactly she apologized for she couldn't remember, but it didn't matter. It never mattered. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"No," he assured the cowering girl, looming over her like final judgment and finding her lacking. "Not yet."

He raised his hand, and she went slack. She couldn't move, couldn't act. Couldn't even lift her arms to take the blow, just stared up at him, mouth open in an unasked "Why?" as the tears streaked silently down her cheeks. His hand swung back. Swung forward. Thunder at the door. She closed her eyes.

_**BAM!**_

She screamed. At the gunshot, at the deafening echo beating against the office walls, at the meaty thump on the ground and the splatter on her skirt. Only now did she discover the sense to shield herself, hands and arms flying to cover her golden head as it tucked down into her chest and knees. She stayed like that, a Barbie pink pill bug, until she heard it.

"Aw, fuckin' hell, I killed the bastard!"

She blinked, hands sliding to her knees and baby blues peering over them. She wasn't quite sure what she expected or wanted to see. A white knight, shining. Perhaps a darker, brooding one. Hell, she'd even take one in a shade of grey and poor fashion sense. But that was not what she found.

Heavy combat boots tromped over the carpeted floor, carrying a woman into the office. The secretary's eyes followed the figure from the floor up. Black work jeans slung low on her rescuer's hips, pulled even lower by a pair of holstered guns, displaying a lightly tanned stomach with the word "OFDENSEN" tattooed in frightening font above the naval (so that _was_ what this was all about). She wore a similarly revealing black tank top, inked bat wings and demonic face emerging from her cleavage. A familiar executioner-styled hood resided on her head until she tore it off, a feathered black ponytail wagging free. She stared at what the secretary highly suspected was James Grishnackh's murdered body (she refused to confirm this by actually looking) with a look of pure annoyance.

"_Shit_, lookit that mess," the Klokateer sneered. "I'm so gettin' my ass reamed."

She grabbed a phone from her belt, eyes glancing casually about the office as she speed-dialed and lifted it to her ear, managing to fall everywhere but upon the secretary. It seemed her talent for being entirely unnoticeable wasn't just limited to her employers and coworkers at Behemoth Studios.

"Hey, Big Daddy," the Klokateer began speaking into the phone. "Yeah, I made it to the office, no problem, no... big deal. Ahhh... Okay, there is a teeny li'l snag," she amended, expression turning sheepish. "I sorta kinda... shot Grishnackh. In the head. Like... right smack in the middle 'a the forehead. He is _dead_." She lifted a booted foot to lightly kick at Grishnackh's leg (the secretary saw as much from the corner of her eye before jerking her gaze away), reassuring herself of this assessment. "It's a really good shot considerin' it was an accident. ...It was! I swear to God, I didn' _mean_ to do it! I came in all excited an' it just went off! Tell me that's never happened to you."

While the Klokateer attempted to convince the other end of the line of her pure intentions, the secretary looked towards the open doorway. She could still hear the thundering of feet that she now knew must belong to an army of Klokateers, each one likely as flippant about the taking of human lives as the one she now shared space with. Some blurred past the doorway from deeper within the building, and she wondered how many of her coworkers had been captured or were even still alive. And what was going to happen to her?

"I _knooow_," the Klokateer was whining to the phone. "I'm gonna be waist-deep in shit with the Boss. He was gonna off the bastard eventually, but... Yeah, I'm just gonna have to face the heat. Boom's gettin' this place rigged to blow..."

_That_ didn't sound good.

"...so I'm gonna grab the shit an' get the fuck outta here. Oh snap!" The Klokateer leaped over Grishnackh's large, limp body and disappeared behind the desk, popping back up to triumphantly slap the briefcase on the painstakingly polished surface.

_'And I should know,'_ the secretary thought._'I'm the one who did it.'_

"The lard ass did it for me!" the other woman was practically singing. "Copy's right here in his case. Ooh, an' a buncha other incriminatin'-lookin' shit. Fat bastard must've fucked over a lot of people." She snapped the briefcase closed. "Alright! I'mma blow this popsicle stand before Boom does. See ya in a bit, Big Daddy."

She snapped the phone back on her belt and bounced over the dead man once more, briefcase in tow. Heading for the door, she gave the secretary a nice view of the horned skull tattooed on her lower back. As the frightened woman stared into its hollowed eyes, she could almost swear she heard a voice like nails on the proverbial chalkboard shrieking, _"Come with me if you want to live!"_

"Wait!"

The Klokateer spun on her instantly, gun drawn and leveled between her baby blue eyes. The secretary froze, staring pleadingly into the much darker blue and narrowed eyes of the other woman. She was certain she was dead until the Klokateer's hard, deadly expression relaxed enough for an eyebrow to raise and one corner of her mouth to pull up in confusion.

"...Where the fuck did you come from?" she asked, gun still aimed and ready.

"I... I've been here..."

"Really?" The Klokateer looked genuinely surprised, tilting her head as she regarded the secretary and lowering the gun. "Huh. You think I would've noticed all that pink."

The secretary laughed nervously, eyes never straying far from the firearm. "Y-Yes, I... get that a lot."

"What? Not bein' noticed or bein' told you look like a walkin' ad campaign for Pepto Bismal?"

"Well-"

"All done!" a voice called out merrily from the door, interrupting the stimulating conversation. The secretary was customarily forgotten as the Klokateer turned her attention to the newcomer.

The young woman peering around the doorjamb had to be a Klokateer, as well, the secretary decided, though she presently wore no hood, leaving bare a round, cheerful face and fashionably mussed blonde hair. She tripped into the room, dressed even more provocatively than her cohort, though the secretary personally didn't think the halter top and hot pants were quite getting the job done compensating for her petite chest and narrow hips. Wiping sweat and a purple skunk stripe from her green eyes, the younger girl grinned proudly at the first Klokateer, thrusting two fingers into the victory sign.

"Everything's all rigged up. Soon as we're clear, I can det..." She trailed off, upper body listing to the side as she peered around the other woman, attention no doubt drawn by the fresh corpse on the floor.

It disturbed the secretary that the resultant expression of surprise was far closer to exasperation than horror.

"Oh, Betty, you're weren't supposed to kill him!" the blonde girl lamented. "Ohh, you're gonna be in _troublllle..."_

"Aw, it'll be fine," the Klokateer identified as "Betty" said dismissively. "I'll just hike my tits up and sit in the Boss' lap when I tell him."

"...I'm pretty sure he'd hate that, Betty."

"Oh, no, he'd totally hate it. But at least I'd have some fun right before he put me on Murderface duty. ...Or fired me. Drove me into a cornfield, ya know... Whichever." She hefted the briefcase meaningfully. "I got the copy anyway, so it ain' a total loss."

"Great!" enthused the blonde, whom the secretary had deduced was the aforementioned "Boom". "Nobody found any others, and if there are..." She giggled. "Well, they'll be going up with the rest of it!"

"Bitchin'. Let's blow." The women turned their backs, heading for the door, leaving the secretary behind once more.

_"Wait!"_

Both Klokateers jumped and whirled around, Betty with her gun drawn again before she realized who it was.

"_Jesus!_ Would ya cut that out?" the dark-haired woman demanded, holstering her gun in aggravation. "Where do you even go? You're a goddamned Ninja Barbie."

"I don't go anywhere..." the secretary started, quickly cut off by Boom.

"Who is that?" the younger woman asked, head tilted as she studied the pink-clad woman as if she were a mildly interesting squirrel.

Betty shook her head in annoyance. "Dude, I don' even... Who the fuck are you?"

She stared at them, painfully aware of how long it took her to answer that particular question. "The... the secretary..."

Betty looked as unimpressed as expected. "Well, that's... special. Now you wanna tell us what the fuck you want so we can get the fuck outta here?"

Her mouth moved wordlessly, her blue eyes wide and desperate. "I... I want... I want..."

The Klokateer rolled her eyes. "Just spit it out, princess."

"I want to get out of here!" she found herself shrieking. "I need it, please, you don't know how badly I need out! Please..." Her hands reached of their own accord for the other woman. "I want to get out of here..."

"...So get out."

"I..." She blinked. "What?"

"If you wanna get out, get out." Betty angled her head to look the secretary over. "Your legs ain' broken, are they?"

"They... No."

"An' ya know how to get t' the front door, right?"

"Well, yes..."

"So get out! Get on your feet, walk out the door, an' get your ass outta here! What the fuck are ya waitin' for?"

She stared at Betty again with her baby blue eyes and knew what she waited for was in them because the Klokateer snorted and shook her head.

"Aw, naw, princess," she smirked, looking almost pleased. "There ain' no knight comin' for ya but me. An' I got no time for rescuin' damsels that don' even need it."

The Klokateer adjusted her grip on the briefcase, turning back to the doorway where her cohort waited. "So walk yourself right out of this dump," she said again. "Or keep on waitin' for Prince Charmin' and get your pretty ass blown up." She looked back over her shoulder, giving the secretary a wide and friendly grin before pulling the black hood over her head. "It ain' no skin off my nose either way, princess. See ya!"

"Bye!" the young, blonde Klokateer echoed, following the first out the door with a bounce and a wave to the secretary, who was left once more on the floor, staring after them.

The minutes ticked away on a nearby clock, the sound of the thundering footsteps began to grow fainter, and, finally, the secretary looked at the dead body in the middle of the room and sighed.

Julianna picked herself up and walked out of James Grishnackh's office.


End file.
